THOSE WHO ENCOUNTERED THE emperors through the legal system as described in the last chapter represent a tiny minority. Emperors had long since come to rely on more widespread forms of communication to get their messages across, though the different media used suggest greater and lesser degrees of imperial interest in communicating with the people.
One of the most significant audiences for Diocletian and Maximian comprised their own officials and the people who lived near to them in what was an ever-expanding number of imperial palaces. Less than fifteen years before Diocletian’s accession, Aurelian had exalted the importance of Rome with his new circuit wall and the establishment of Sol Invictus’ cult in the city, though he was very rarely resident there himself. Probus and Carus, two other recent predecessors of Diocletian, spent most of their time in the provinces. There were provincial cities that possessed all the appurtenances needed by an imperial entourage for a long stay—Alexandria was such a city, as was Antioch, which was a crucial base for wars with Persia; and Sirmium (now Sremska Mitrovica near Belgrade in Serbia) had had an imperial palace since the days when Marcus Aurelius stayed there for long periods. Trier may have been the primary base for the Gallic emperors, or it might have been Cologne. All of these were already places of importance whether an emperor resided there or not.
Diocletian took a radical step when he decided to build an imperial palace at Nicomedia, the site of his accession, making the city another headquarters along with Alexandria, Antioch, and Sirmium. Soon afterward, new palaces appeared at Trier and Lugdunum (Lyons) in Gaul, an imperial complex of some sort was built at Cordoba, and in Italy a new capital district emerged in the north with palaces at Aquileia and Milan, which had become an important base for the defense of Italy in the reign of Gallienus. Then, during the 290s, Serdica (the modern city of Sofia in Bulgaria) joined Thessalonica and Sirmium as the site of a palace. Lactantius, foe that he was of Diocletian’s regime, gives us an idea of such projects: “Here there were basilicas, here a circus, here a mint, an arms factory, a house for his [Diocletian’s] wife, one for his daughter … thus he always raved, seeking to make Nicomedia the equal to Rome.”1
What Lactantius observed was true of all new imperial capitals: as centers of administration they needed facilities such as mints, and they also needed spaces for emperors to meet the different ranks who lived in their palaces. As a general rule, emperors met the common people at the frequent public games. So it is not surprising that Trier, which already had a large amphitheater before Maximian and Constantius established their presence in the city, found the building expanded; and Sirmium, Thessalonica, and Nicomedia all acquired new circuses. The spectacles at the amphitheater might be specially themed to enable the audience to relive a recent imperial triumph—for instance, Titus had long ago staged throughout the empire the execution of Jewish prisoners of war after the capture of Jerusalem in AD 70; and in the reign of Trajan, at least one Gallic city staged the death of Decebalus, king of the Dacians whom Trajan had conquered. These were moments in which the people could relish the power of their emperor and celebrate with him their mutual salvation. Other buildings that tend to crop up in imperial capitals are large bathhouses, which expressed a ruler’s readiness to provide high-quality care for his people, and the massive basilicas that Lactantius so deplored where justice could be administered.
The importance attached to bathing is perhaps best seen in the huge bathhouse that Maximian would begin to construct at Rome in the name of Diocletian after his defeat of tribal raiders in North Africa. The building was probably begun in 299 (the year Theodora would give birth to a daughter named Fausta who would grow up to be Constantine’s second wife) when Maximian was actually in the city. The finished monument would stand not simply as a symbol of victory and a testament to imperial largesse, but also as an incontrovertible statement of imperial stability, as its dedicatory inscription commemorates Diocletian and Maximian, retired by the time the building was finished in 305, and their successors.2
If the common person—the sort who might come seeking a rescript—was typical of those who frequented the theater or the bathhouse, the audience in a basilica was rather different. The great hall of a basilica would focus attention on the person of the emperor at the far end; the people who filled the hall on ceremonial occasions would be members of the court or local dignitaries. These encounters would be the occasions when panegyrics would be delivered, and the speaker’s words would be complemented by the hall’s rich trappings that might include memorials to victories such as paintings illustrating the phases of a recent campaign.
Such paintings appear to have been for many years an important element of imperial communication. They featured initially in the triumphal processions that celebrated victories in the years before Augustus, the most famous being perhaps the one carried at a triumph of Julius Caesar in 46 BC depicting a victory in northern Turkey and bearing the caption veni, vidi, vici: “I came, I saw, I conquered.” Celebratory painting became increasingly widespread in later centuries. One third-century emperor put on displays at Rome to commemorate his victories on the Rhine and the Danube; another seems to have circulated pictures giving his version of the murder of his predecessor in an attempt thereby to prove he had had nothing to do with it. About a century after the promotion of Galerius and Constantius, one writer complains that a recent display focused on the hand of the Christian God in chasing off the barbarians rather than on scenes of imperial courage, and there are signs elsewhere of people reacting to similar images.
In the case of palatial art, some paintings might represent specific events, while others might take as their subject more general themes such as the submission of barbarian peoples to Rome. Paintings of this kind on display at the imperial palace in Milan when Attila arrived there so outraged the Hun that he commissioned a new painting showing the Romans submitting to him. And artistic themes didn’t have to be specifically military. Maps were popular items. Not all of them were in palaces, but the palace at Trier may have been home to the very large map that is the prototype of our most extensive surviving map showing the Roman world as a collection of cities linked by the imperial road system.3
Although very large crowds might see their ruler at the games, there is no reason to think that the general public got close to the ruler at ceremonial events in the great basilica. Crowds stayed outside during imperial visits, while only individuals of importance would be in a position to hear the emperor speak. About the time of Diocletian, the court ceremonials began to get more elaborate and the emperor sought, more than many of his predecessors had, to be seen as different from those who served him. Diocletian limited the use of purple cloth to himself and his three colleagues; he wore a gold crown and spectacular jewels.4 Constantine, himself visible at many of these events after he joined the court, seems to have adopted Diocletian’s sense of spectacle with relish and would show an adept sense of public theater at later points in his life.
FIGURE 5.1
This image of the tetrarchs, now built into the Cathedral of St. Mark’s at Venice, once stood in Constantinople, where it was most likely also a transplant. It is a forceful statement of the theoretical unity among the four members of the college and especially between the Augusti with their respective Caesars. Source: © Shutterstock.
Whatever people saw when they witnessed an emperor’s coming, it was also important that those who could not see him be given a clear image so they could imagine how he looked. For the first few years of their joint reign, Diocletian and Maximian had been portrayed in the style of their immediate predecessors but as of 290, they took on a new appearance, a bit more substantial than before. There was a further change in 293 when the silver coinage was reformed so that all four rulers—Diocletian, Maximian, Constantius, and Galerius—appear with full-featured, heavy-set busts, and with very little to distinguish one from the other (fig. 4.1).5 In addition, the people might now be treated to novel depictions of their emperors. The most famous in existence are in the Vatican Museum and in St. Mark’s Cathedral in Venice: carved out of porphyry, these feature bearded emperors hugging each other (fig. 5.1). Perhaps inspired by this, some citizens began to cut their hair short and grow their own “imperial beards”; others would take home small images or have a lamp in the house with an imperial bust on it.6 Reactions such as these offer some indication of a polyvalent discourse going on about power, and signify that some imperial subjects, at least, were willing to take seriously the claim that they were living in a brave new world. As of 296 many would still need a good deal more convincing.